“And when summer ends?” His fingers drum lightly on the table, thoughtful. “You planning on ghosting me come Labor Day?”
I snort. “Not exactly. I am, however, starting a post-grad grown-up life that includes a new job in the fall. So I’d rather not complicate things. Meanwhile, I need a cure for my dry spell, and you need to scratch that post-divorce itch with someone in their twenties. Win-win.”
He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Okay. Maybe this helps us both heal. Or at least remember how to enjoy someone again. But if we’re doing this, what else besidesno strings but summer exclusivitywould this bubble of ours include?”
I hesitate. “No last names. No job titles. No cell phone numbers. In other words, no real-world baggage.”
He smirks. “You mean like, ‘Hi, I’m Knox. Just Knox. I enjoy grilling, sarcastic women, and long walks on the beach’?”
“Exactly.” I smile, but my stomach flips. “This version of us stays here. In Crystal Cove. Only for the summer.”
“And after?”
I glance down, fingers tracing the rim of my glass.
Becauseafteris the part I can’t afford to imagine.
“Well, what do you suggest?” I keep my tone light, hoping my heart remembers a summer fling isn’t supposed to drift somewhere real.
He shrugs. “If it’s to be a true fling, we both ease back into our lives. No strings. Just…a memory.”
My fingers skim the edge of the table, pretending it’s simple. That this is the powdered-sugar happiness my therapist was talking about.
“Sounds perfect.”
Knox studies me like he’s also deciding whether to push or play along. Then the tension in his face melts, something fond creeping into his smile.
“Well,” he says, raising his glass, “to our summer bubble.”
I clink my glass against his, heart pounding louder than it should.
“To our bubble,” I echo.
We fall into silence, broken only by the clink of cutlery and the hush of waves crashing below the deck.
Once we’re done eating, Knox gathers the dishes while I lean against the railing, watching the tide sweep in and the kittens sleep like royalty.
He returns and joins me at the railing, thumbs hooked casually in his front pockets, one heartbeat of space between us. “Anything else we should agree to?”
I turn and face him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his skin.
My heart flutters, and I could blame the sun or that spark I feel whenever his gaze meets mine. But the truth is, I like him already. More than I should.
So I draw another boundary in the sand, like it’ll save me later.
“Yeah,” I say matter-of-factly. “No falling in love.”
His eyes hold mine for a beat too long, like he’s memorizing the rule so he won’t break it later.
A breeze snakes between us, bearing the smallest trace of his cologne, stirring something low in my belly, where logic never wins.
Knox steps closer, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers graze my skin, gentle, almost hesitant, and a shiver hums through me before I can will it away.
“Right.” The word comes out thick with something he’s not saying. Beats pass between us before he adds, “No falling in love.”
It’s hard for me not to melt when he’s looking at me like I’m already something he can’t let go of.
So, I tell myself this is temporary. That my heart’s safe.
